Should Have Seen It Coming
by Exceeds Expectations
Summary: When you think back, you can pinpoint the exact moment that the whispers began; those sly words and secret truths that twisted like snakes at the base of your skull, writhing and coiling and never ever leaving. In the end, they'll kill you.


_**A/N:** This is for Fire the Canon's 1 Character, 1 Prompt Challenge in which I chose the prompt "whispers" and was given Regulus Black as my character. I don't think it could have been more perfect as I completely adore Regulus! What a tragic boy. Review please?_

* * *

**1)**

He's seven and you're four.

There is a party on somewhere, for some friend of Father's from work. Not a _party, _a _ball, _you remind yourself, in a voice that sounds oddly like Mother. You wait for Father in the garden and watch the leaves of the dying trees blow in the autumn wind, your eyes following those that are too weak, those that break away and fall to the ground, forgotten.

Your mother stands before you in a stiff gown with a stoic expression and her usual glare. She has dressed you in finest dress robes in deepest green and your hair is slicked away from your eyes. You keep your hands by your sides and your back straight, like you know she likes.

You look at Sirius, your mirror image (albeit almost a whole foot taller). He looks almost as scared as you. _Almost_.

"You _will _behave yourselves," Mother says, her voice harsh and clipped.

"I will not have my children act any way that is untoward. You will not _besmirch _the Black family name. Do you understand?"

You nod silently.

"Yes, ma'am," Sirius whispers, with a mocking salute. His voice is bitter and angry and you think that all his seven years have been worth nothing if this is how he dies. Your mother does _not_ take backtalk. Your mother _demands_ respect. Your mother _will _kill him.

Your heart stops momentarily and you glance at her face, panicked. She does not move. She gazes at him, eyes unblinking, mouth unsmiling, not even a stray hair blowing in the breeze. She is still and poised and utterly terrifying. Power and regality roll off her skin in ebbing waves, dark as night, and you are in horrified awe as she stares.

You chance a glance at him.

You are reminded of war stories and mutiny and soldiers and even those Muggle cowboys that Andy's Ted once told you about; this is a stand-off, a silent battle, eye to eye. He matches her gaze with equal, if not more, intensity and fervour.

When you think back, you can pinpoint this as the moment that the whispers began; those sly words and secret truths that twisted like snakes at the base of your skull, writhing and coiling and never ever leaving.

_There he is_, they say. _Seven years old and just as stoic, just as stubborn, just as still. And, okay, so his bottom lip is quivering slightly and there's a strand or two of hair twisted in his eyelashes and the wind makes them tickle his cheek and his heart is surely pounding through his chest and -_

_And he's doing it anyway._

_Because he's the brave son._

(So, really, you should have seen it coming.)

* * *

**2)**

He's seventeen and you're fourteen.

This time _he_stands before you with an angry glare across his eyes and a disappointed sigh on his lips. He watches you walk alone and he laughs, mocking. There is disgust in his eyes and you don't think he'll ever forgive you. He doesn't care about you, little Regulus, with the silver and green wrapped tightly around your throat.

He says, "Oi, Regulus! Where are all your friends?," and he only asks because he knows you have none. He says it a lot, and you'd think it'd stop hurting so much, wouldn't you? But it doesn't.

You turn away from him with a graceful spin and you let your feet carry you away from his echoing catcalls.

It's not only his voice that echoes in your ears. It's the other boys' too. Precious Potter, that Lupin boy, and Pettigrew and even that annoying Longbottom fellow. Maybe more. You're unsure.

Because Sirius never had a problem making friends, did he? He was always likeable, friendly and popular. You were always quiet, well read and lonely.

Maybe he'd ease up if you told him the reason you don't have friends is because you refuse to sit there and discuss the eradication and/or enslavement of Muggles or the advantages to Pureblood supremacy. Maybe he'd understand that you want to be like him. You want to stand up for those who cannot stand alone. But you're not _brave_, you're no _Gryffindor._

But your mother's voice rings in your ears, a whisper of home to drown the cruel and childish laughter.

"Treachery! Perfidy! Deceit! _Filth_!"

So you sigh heavily and breathe deeply before walking off and finding some boys you hate to talk about a cause you don't believe in to please a woman you cannot respect.

_But she's your mother and you love her, don't you? _

_What else can you do? Go make the wrong friends._

(So, really, you should have seen it coming.)

* * *

**3)**

He's good and you're bad.

These are the roles you've fallen into because you don't have the words to say _no _or the guts to run. You can't break the heart of a battered old woman with a broken, decaying mind and an evil smirk. You can't hurt Mother.

_What she doesn't know can't hurt her though…_

You cannot stand it; you cannot sit here and watch as pure evil solidifies itself into a mortal body with a slimy, snaky voice and a twisted, thwarted heart. You cannot watch this man, this heartless, loveless man, ruin the lives of so many helpless people. You cannot sit back and take it anymore.

_Are you going to fight, boy?_

You discover his secret.

You plot against him in the dead of night, when it feels like you're drowning in the darkness. You stitch together the intricate fabrics of deceit and treachery with your shaking fingers and you hope against hope that no one finds you.

And when you feel like you're fighting for something, when you feel like you're winning, you think it the happiest you've ever been.

You think it might even be the happiest you ever will be.

_You're nothing, Regulus, _come the whispers. _Who are you to deserve happiness?_

(So, really, you should have seen it coming.)


End file.
